


Oddity

by wickedrum



Category: Pushing Daisies
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Stomach Fetish, Stomach Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 20:03:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3423773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedrum/pseuds/wickedrum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chuck and Ned discover exactly how it is possible for them to have children.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Basically the same thing happens as in most of my fics, just the characters and circumstances are different.

Title: Oddity  
Disclaimers: All credit to the Pushing Daisies creators.  
Genre: H/C. Traditional SICKFIC where the plot suffers for the sake of the genre. Grounded heavily in my stomach fetish.  
Rating: M  
Summary: In which Chuck and Ned discover exactly how it is possible for them to have children.  
Set: Post series, but could happen any time.  
Pairing: Ned/Chuck, slight Ned/Olive.

 

Solving the case was easy as pie, too easy perhaps. Still, it happened sometimes that in essence all they had to do is saunter into the city morgue, courtesy of the coroner, who had gotten used to their threesome shenanigans by now and did not bat one eyelid when they filed into the mortuary, (private investigator Emerson Cod would always settle the debt anyhow), and the victim would spill not just the name of the killer, but also give them sufficient information about the nature and whereabouts of satisfactory evidence within the minute that was available for manoeuvre so that barely any footwork was needed. 

This was the state of affairs with Zeppelin Hershey, dog walker by trade, who was 23 years, 3 weeks, 6 days and 8 hours old when he was drained of all of his blood lying in his bed in his mother’s house, a shrubbery covered two-storey in archetypal suburbia. But instead of the vampirism theories that circulated within the public following the discovery of the body, the facts were these: it was the night of Zeppelin’s normal, customary black market, monthly blood drive when an ex-convict, ex-doctor named Hennessy Moon came to collect his pint he normally sold on to his two customers who were also B negative like our unfortunate, young dog walker. Conversely, the good ex-doctor had been under the influence of completely different sorts of pints and units and shots and forgot to turn the valve at the cannula collecting the precious, life giving blood and unfortunately the man named after a balloon died of hypovolemic shock, at which point the moon doctor decided he may as well take all the available supplies. If the private investigators traced the two customers, they would find the blood that belonged to the animal stroller young man.

People who were revived for their minute however, weren’t always content with going back to being dead, but sometimes attempted a run and who could blame them. Ned was already nearing his finger towards the murder victim and at that very moment, Zeppelin suddenly jumped up, shoving the piemaker out of the way in the lucky way where he didn’t come into contact with any skin. 

The piemaker grabbed for him, but only got a hold of the lapel the dead man was covered with, halting him effectively for the moment. The dog walker turned boxer fighting for his life however threw an uppercut power punch into his opponent’s shirted stomach, making Ned hunch forward and render the escapee properly dead for the second time and for good with his forehead as he fell to his knees, all happening within the five seconds Emerson Cod managed to come forward and catch the morgue’s occupant as it turned blue again. 

“Are we on time?” The PI panicked, hauling the dead man up to the table where it belonged. 

“Ned!” The girl named Chuck panicked for a completely dissimilar reason, seeing the grown up version of the boy she shared her first kiss paling and holding his stomach, doubled over. The fact that she could not run to him frustrated her more than usual at that very moment. “Ned, are you all right?” She hovered close, wishing she had brought gloves. 

The piemaker tried to answer her, not to worry the girl of his dreams, but for that you needed air and the air, that wouldn’t come. As he was trying to breathe, his vision blurred over and he was afraid he might vomit. He fell to his side, hitting his head in the cadaver table’s leg in the process, but it was noting comparing to the screaming of his insides and the spasming of his muscles. It was getting dark too. 

“Emerson! Do something! Leave that body!” Charlotte physically pushed the private investigator in her boyfriend’s direction, with him being too busy setting the corpse back onto the table to notice his business partner’s distress. 

“Alright, alright,” the bald man left the haphazardly placed dog walker to his fate and knelt next to his friend, “he got a well placed hit in the solar plexus. It knocks the wind out of you and you feel like you can’t breathe but he will be fine,” he assured, eyeing the exact position Ned held his hands to his stomach. 

“But he passed out!” Chuck rattled hysterically. “I’ve heard people dying from such a hit. A bruise to the heart, a rupture of a blood vessel, anything can happen.”

“The punch wasn’t that hard. Look at that boy, he doesn’t have the strength in him. It was just an unfortunate hitting of target,” he hoped, noting himself how pale the piemaker looked. 

“Maybe Zeppelin was taking kickboxing classes?” She guessed. “Ned. If you can hear us, please say something. I’m going crazy with concern over here,” the girl named Chuck was stooping as close as it was safe for the two of them in their unique predicament. 

“He can’t speak right now, that’s not unusual when the diaphragm goes into spasms,” Emerson Cod declared reservedly, not wanting to show his own worry in front of dead girl. 

At this very moment, Ned felt himself raise from the haze of pain that clouded his mind and senses enough to be able to shake his head and take as much air as to allow a strangled moan, pain clearly showing on his face. “It’s ok, Ned,” the investigator took that as a sign to take control, “you need to try and relax. Aim to stay calm and take slow, superficial breaths. I’m going to bring you out from under the table you are under a bit,” he put his hands behind Ned’s back and neck and positioned him slowly into a place he could get to the injured man easier. “And now I’m going to take hold of your knees and push them a little towards your stomach. Bending like that helps the muscles loosen up. Are you ready?” He waited for the other man’s nod before doing as he indicated previously. 

“Is it working? Ned?” The honey harvester fretted. She had never felt so useless in her entire life. Ned was hurt and she couldn’t help him or even comfort him. 

The piemaker nodded for his childhood sweetheart’s sake and opened his eyes, looking for her. “I’m here, Ned,” Chuck assured, seeing his pitiful expression while herself almost burst into tears from helplessness, “I’m so hugging you right now,” she assured, wishing she could. “Shouldn’t we call the paramedics?” The brunette looked at the man giving first aid.

“And tell them what? That a corpse punched Ned?” Emerson rolled his eyes.

“Maybe it fell on him? Or Ned ran into a filing cabinet with his stomach.”

“Yeah, very likely,” the detective frowned, “relax dead girl. His condition should improve within ten, fifteen minutes the most. If not, I will personally lift him up into my arms and take him into hospital, however creepy and bridal style that would be,” he pledged.

“I’m alright,” Ned managed on a breathless voice and tried to raise himself on an elbow.

“Seriously? Take it easy superman,” Emerson didn’t let him get up, “it’s best if you stay down a little bit longer. It’s not comfortable getting on your feet after all your nerve endings get messed about at a pressure point. I wouldn’t recommend it right now. Besides, we need to check if your ribs are still intact or if you have internal injuries.” His tone was even, but what he said gave away how fretted he also was about his partner. 

“My ribs aren’t broken. I would know that,” Ned protested. 

“I’ll give you that,” the homicide detective allowed. “Can you lift up your shirt?” Ned gave him a look, but Chuck only knit her brows. It wasn’t like Emerson Cod to encourage any nakedness and her boyfriend still looked incredibly pale. 

Ned struggled with the move requested, pain flashing across his face as he panted. In the end, the gumshoe let go of the piemaker’s knees and reached forward to push the clothing item out the way and reveal already forming bruises under the piemaker’s ribcage. “Alright, I changed my mind, I’m taking you to hospital,” Emerson decided, moving to haul the other tall, but not as heavy man into his arms. 

“Wait,” Ned protested, more the move, rather than where he was taken. 

“It looks like internal bleeding there, partner, we’re not taking any chances.” The private detective determined.

“What..what can I do?” Chuck ran beside them. 

“Open doors, drive, come up with a good story,” Emerson dictated, starting to pant himself with the effort of carrying his associate.

Tbc


	2. Two and Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, poor darling,” Chuck cooed, cleaning his face from the sweat of being sick this time with her gloved hands, making Ned decide he had to get better real quick if it was at all possible so she would stop endangering herself by touching him all the time and all over the place. Maybe suggesting Olive coming wasn’t such a bad idea.

Chapter 2: Two and Too

“Couch or bedroom?” Emerson looked for directions, steering his partner with a hand on his back in the door of his apartment above the pie shop four hours later as Ned was released from hospital due to the lack of severity of the injury with merely a warning to keep a lookout for further symptoms and go back if his condition worsens. 

“Bedroom. He should rest properly,” Chuck determined.

“Couch,” Ned chose instead and seated himself gingerly on the mentioned furniture item. At the woman’s disapproving, but concerned frown, he added, “bedroom’s too far.”

“Lie down there then,” she gestured for him to pull his legs up and arranged a couple of pillows at the other end for his head, “is that comfortable enough?”

“Chuck, I’m fine,” the piemaker disputed, “no broken ribs, aortas, ruptured organs. You were fretting over nothing.”

“No. Just some bruised ribs, bruised organs and a tear in your diaphragm. Nothing at all,” the never aging girl disagreed, “tell him Emerson,” she asked for the investigator’s input. 

“Oh, I’m staying out of this,” the private eye backtracked, as always when those two lovebirds were getting into a disagreement, “I’ve waited enough time already not tracking down illegal blood harvesting rings. You’d better get better quick partner,” he raised a finger in Ned’s direction, “I might need you superpower soon,” he retreated the door backwards.

“You need to go help Olive, or we will need to close early,” Ned proposed, “if you don’t mind?”

“I do mind,” Chuck ascertained firmly, “somebody needs to stay here with you in case you need something or you get worse,” she shouted from the kitchen when she had snatched the first aid box. “You are more important than people having a fill of their pies and profits even. It’s not as if it is incomes from the Pie Hole that sustain the business.” 

“That’s true, but I feel bad for Olive having to do all that work while I lie here helpless,” Ned said as soon as she was back in the room. He wasn’t going to raise his voice as talking loud hurt. In fact talking hurt in itself so he was trying take only small, nonstraining breaths. 

“How much pain are you in?” His girlfriend examined his pained facial expression compassionately. 

“Quite a lot?” Ned admitted sheepishly. 

“That’s why I have this,” Chuck raised the instant ice cold pack out the box and activated it. She knelt down next to the couch, “raise your top.”

“Ho, whoa! You’re too close,” the piemaker complained, sliding his hands off his stomach and stuffing them under his bottom even though it hurt to rearrange himself.

“Latex gloves from the kit!” She showed him her gloved hands, raising them up to relax him, then reached for his grey t shirt. 

Ned squirmed a little uncomfortably, not because of the injury or the sudden cold sensation on his upper stomach, but because there was a little sliver of exposed wrist between the gloves and the sleeves of her dress that could in theory touch his exposed abdomen if they weren’t careful. “You shouldn’t, Chuck,” he protested, shaking his head.

“Do you think I’d let you lie there and suffer all on your own without the possibility of whatever comfort I’m still able to offer despite the circumstances we live in?” She bristled. “Now, would you like something to drink, eat, another pillow, the television on? Some music? I could see if I can try and find some pain killers you’re still allowed to take even with the ones you’ve taken at the hospital?” She smiled benevolently at him, her voice having gradually changing to empathetic from aggravated that her services were opposed.

“I’d just like some peace and quiet,” Ned whimpered, “I still feel sick. I was hoping that if I didn’t have to move, it would go away.”

“Okay, I’ll pull the curtains so you can rest better,” Chuck stood to complete the action, leaving only an inch of light coming in to still be able to see in the half darkness.

“Thank you,” the piemaker tried to make the girl feel valued, “and thank you for the compress.”

“You’re welcome,” the brunette beamed, “sleep assured. I will be close by if you need me and I will change your compress when it warms up, every time.” Chuck promised. If only she didn’t. But now that she did, the piemaker could not sleep assured. In fact he could not sleep at all, fearing he would move in his sleep at the moment when she was changing those compresses. 

But he wouldn’t say that, he would not rebuff the woman only trying to help him. He was too much of a gentleman for that, especially when it was about his beloved sweetheart. Truth was, for once it would’ve been better if Chuck and Olive changed places. The waitress would and could take care of him wholly and thoroughly without the fear of it ending up in accidents while the woman who could in theory live forever, should take care of the shop. But he didn’t say that either, he just tried to keep still as much as possible, including controlling the rise of his chest, and ignore the pain and the nausea. He didn’t even want to think what kind of agony throwing up would cause, he already had part of it once on the way to the hospital, making both Chuck and Emerson freak out again when he couldn’t speak or move for minutes. Ned soon had to swallow heavily though to keep the sickness down and apparently Chuck interpreted this as a sign of pain as her gloved hands quickly removed the fairly warmed up ice pack and she was getting another one ready when unable to speak from the contents of his stomach that filled his mouth, Ned was just about able to make sure he didn’t bump into her as he shifted to his side to be sick onto the floor. 

“Oh my god,” he heard from Chuck as he tried to get the room to stop spinning around him and his stomach muscles to relax. “Ned!” The woman sounded a tad bit enthusiastic for the situation at hand, “you have been sick on me and I didn’t die! Isn’t that wonderful! Look at this!” She smiled at her legs, turning them around in wonder.

Ned blinked his bleary eyes open at her, excessively thankful himself that in his carelessness he didn’t kill her, but failed to understand what was so wonderful about her knees being splattered a little with vomit. “So sorry..” He finally managed, as soon as he was able to draw a breath. 

“No, you don’t have to be sorry! Don’t you understand how delightful and marvellous this is?” Chuck vibrated with excitement. 

“I…” Ned stayed with his mouth open, trying to make sense of her behaviour cause in fact, he did not understand how delightful and marvellous it all was. He moaned instead, wishing for something to clean his mouth out with. 

“Oh, Ned.” His moan had apparently drawn the undeaded woman to the present. She took a wipe out of the kit box this time and dried his lips from the drool. “Are you ok?”

“I think I will be. In an hour or so when I’m due some more painkillers,” he frowned.

“Oh, poor darling,” Chuck cooed, cleaning his face from the sweat of being sick this time with her gloved hands, making Ned decide he had to get better real quick if it was at all possible so she would stop endangering herself by touching him all the time and all over the place. Maybe suggesting Olive coming wasn’t such a bad idea. He was about to mention it when…

“Obviously we couldn’t experiment before for you to be sick on me, but I did think about it already. And now that we know it’s safe, we can go on to the next step,” she babbled.

“What next step?” Sometimes women were hard to understand.

“Artificial insemination. When the sperm is already out of you, it can’t hurt me. There’s no reason why we can’t have babies together.”

“Babies?” Ned echoed, feeling faint. 

The End.


End file.
